


Exit Light, Enter Night

by notalone91



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood, Death, F/M, Gen, Gore, Horror, JUST, Like, M/M, Multi, Nightmare on Elm Street AU, Other, Slasher, there's a lot to unpack here., this is pure horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91
Summary: When The Losers Club are terrorized in dreams in ways startlingly reminiscent of a string of murders ending in little Georgie Denbrough just a few years before, they're left on their own.  Will they get a happy ending or will it all turn out to be a nightmare of Its' own?
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Exit Light, Enter Night

**Author's Note:**

> TW: DEATH, GORY DEATH, DEATHS MADE TO LOOK LIKE SUICIDE. IF YOU DON'T LIKE HORROR MOVIES AND THEIR ILK, TURN BACK.

Eddie Kaspbrak sat bolt upright in his bed. He was 17 years old. He didn’t believe in the boogeyman. Things didn’t go bump in the night, save maybe his headboard. He wasn’t particularly jumpy, even. But… He was gay in a town where the overwhelming theme of the graffiti was homophobic at best, and most of it was more to the worse. There was also his mother. She was overbearing and manipulative and it was all Eddie could do to not have her crazy rub off on him. Even with all of that, or thanks to it, he supposed, he did occasionally suffer nightmares.

That’s what he was used to. That’s what it was. A nightmare. That’s all.

He rubbed his big brown eyes and stepped out of the bed. He headed for the kitchen, carefully tiptoeing down the steps, hardly registering the scraping noise that followed him.

He opened the fridge to pour himself a glass of milk. It plopped into the glass in curdled chunks. He drank it all down. 

Behind him, the pantry door opened and closed. 

Startled, he dropped his glass, shattering it into millions of tiny pieces. He turned to the open door and walked through it.

The setting morphed and, instead of the pantry, past the boxes of cereal and pasta and canned veggies, he was knee-deep in sewage, wading through a dark, dank tunnel.

Now, he couldn’t ignore the screeching, scraping noise. It was distinctly metal on metal. And as blood-curdling and bone-chilling as it was, Eddie was curiously drawn to it. Moving toward the siren song, he tried to steel himself. 

At the end of the tunnel, a figure was waving elongated fingers, beckoning him forward. He picked up his pace, cautiously trying to sneak a glimpse of the person in the light.

When the edge of the tunnel appeared to branch off, he stopped again, searching for an indication of which way he should go.

“Hiya, Eddie.”

Before he stood…

A man with an alarm clock for a face?

Instead, he woke up in his own bed to the peeling of his own alarm clock. Panting, he laid staring at the ceiling. “What the fuck?” he asked absolutely no one before rolling out of bed.

Still, on his way to school the next morning, his boyfriend’s arm was protectively over his shoulder- even though, to everyone, including their friends who they did everything with, including walk to school with, they were just ‘extremely close’- he couldn’t shake the ill-feeling from his dream. He’d minimized the details, hoping to spare himself some sanity points.

“Jeez, Eddie,” Bill, his friend, the unofficial leader of their group, scoffed. “It was just a dream. No need to get hysterical over it.” 

“I’m not hysterical,” he lied. “It was just weird, s’all.”

“We all have weird dreams,” Mike said, his tone even. “I mean, I dreamed some dude was chasing me through the farm and into the sewers last night.”

Eddie perked up. “Sewers?” He shrugged out from under Richie’s grasp and grabbed Mike, pulling him aside as their friends stopped to watch. “The guy chased you into the sewers?”

Shaking his head, confused, Mike eventually gave in. “Yeah, But what difference does that m-”

The uncanny similarity shook him to his core. “Sewers? As in, like, underground, greywater?”

“What’s this about, Eds?” Richie asked, worrying his brows and casting a sidelong glance at Bev.

“Nothing. Just…” Eddie sighed. “Don’t you think it’s weird that the dreams we’re having all match?”

Ben shrugged it off. “Not really,” he said, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. He hoped his lying had gotten better because, truthfully, he was thoroughly freaked out. He’d dreamt that his friends had fought, especially him and Bill, but that was to be expected, he thought, willing himself to look away from where his hand was entwined with Beverly’s. “Maybe we’re gonna have an Earthquake or something. Everything gets kinda off before-”

“Just, can someone let me sleep over tonight?” Eddie asked. “My mom’s been so out of it lately, I just don’t-”

Before he could finish, he had an answer. “We’ve got it covered,” Richie said, slinging his arm across his shoulders once more, pushing him along closer to their high school. “Wentford and Maggiebeth are out for the week, bless them, so you’re all cordially invited to Casa del Tozier.” He winked down at Eddie who smiled up graciously.

Stan groaned. “They needed a vacation from you?” he teased, dragging Ben along backward by the bookbag. “I mean, can you blame them?” Ben managed to wriggle out of Stan’s grasp and flanked Eddie’s other side.

Richie stuck his tongue out in a childish response. Still, the thought of all 7 of them being together made Eddie feel so much better. “Okay, good” he said, relaxing slightly. “Need me to bring anything?”

“Just your shining personality, Eddiekins,” he answered, pinching his cheek.

The school day elapsed in accordion-like movements, dragging out slowly, compressing too quickly. Eventually, though, 2:15 rolled around and their group split for Richie’s, feeling lighter all the while.

Though Eddie’s mother wasn’t much of a fan of Richie’s, she liked his parents enough. A wordless air of mutual respect between the women, especially, afforded him free nights at the Toziers at least as often as the Denbroughs, but more often than the Uris;. In fact, he wasn’t sure which came first, the unspoken to him agreement between the mothers or the friendship of the sons. Eddie couldn't remember a time without Bill, Richie, and Stan by his side. Mysterious though the bond may have been, it was especially useful on nights like that Tuesday, when he needed to be somewhere, anywhere else. It was strange. Almost like Sonia Kaspbrak just accepted that Maggie Tozier, Sharon Denbrough, and Andrea Uris would kill for him. He never asked, partly because he didn’t want to jinx it and piss her off, but also, partly, because he was afraid he might not want to know the answer.

Sonia Kaspbrak was an imposing woman, both in figure and in personality. She had a medicine chest full of uppers, downers, painkillers, and anything else under the sun. If Eddie were a different type of person, he could certainly have gotten himself into a good bit of trouble with all of Mommy’s Little Helpers.

It had occurred to him once, as he came in from school to the sound of his mother’s nearly ultrasonic snoring, that he didn’t really know her at all. Sure, he knew how she was, what not to do to set her off, how she attempted to smother him, but sidestepped any personal information of her own. Truthfully, he was fairly certain that if she took too many pills one night and he needed to call an ambulance for her, he wouldn’t even be able to accurately give any medical history as to why she’d been prescribed all of her inventory in the first place.

He didn’t know much, he supposed, but he knew that that wasn’t normal. Moms told their kids stories. Their kids knew them. Ben often said that his mom was one of his closest friends. The mere thought of that seemed foreign to Eddie. 

Eddie Kaspbrak didn’t know his mother at all. 

Nevertheless, he was grateful to whatever had passed between Sonia, Maggie, Sharon, and Andrea that facilitated their sons’ companionship, and by extension, that of Ben, Beverly, and Mike.

The seven together were by no means popular. Quite the opposite, in fact. That didn’t matter to them, though. They had each other and that was-

A lot, actually.

They were a lot. The seven combined were loud and boisterous, made well above average grades for the most part, moved in a pack and, largely, were among the more unpredictable characters of Derry High. More than that, they were fiercely devoted to one another.

To be fair to them, they really were just another group of teenagers, just like others across the world, but to the town, they were an oddity. They were losers. That was, somehow, fine by them.

By the time they got to Richie’s, queued up their movies, ordered pizzas, and got comfortable, the sun was already starting to set. Beverly and Bill were curled up on the floor as she tried to plait his hair. Ben sat across the room, trying not to pout as he shoved his cold feet under Mike’s shirt in an effort to make him get up. Mike was largely immovable; he hardly even noticed Ben’s needling. Stan and Richie sat on the other couch, arguing the semantics of one of the movies they were going to watch. Eddie may have physically been on the floor in front of Richie, but in his mind, he was a million miles away.

The dream he’d had the night before scared him. He’d never had a dream stick with him like that before. He could still almost hear the blood chilling screech.

No. No… That wasn’t in his head.

He looked around the room in a panic for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing seemed wrong. They were all accounted for.

Eddie stood up frantically and moved to the window. “What’s up, Eds?” Richie asked, his blue eyes tracking him, concerned. He paused the movie and sat forward.

“Nothing,” he said, trying his best at nonchalance. “I just thought I heard-”

And it happened again. This time, Eddie whirled around quickly. His eyes landed on Bill, mindlessly dragging a metal comb across a breath mint tin.

“What the fuck?” Eddie yelped, yanking the tin out of his hands. “You know what I said about the dream I had last night!”

Bill eyed him, bewildered. “Yeah. Some dude was chasing you around the sewers. This was something out of mine.” Eddie furrowed his brow, confusion settling in as the grating scratch permeated his nerves. “See, Eddie? We all have nightmares.”

Behind him, Bev had recoiled. “Bill, was your dream about a clown-”

“With knives for fingernails?” Eddie finished. When Bill nodded, his heart started to pound. “So, you Bev, Mike, and I are sharing elements of the same nightmare and-”

Ben cleared his throat guiltily and nodded. Eddie cast a quick glance around the room. Richie had pulled his knees into his chest and looked frightened. He didn’t have to say it; Eddie knew he had, too. He turned to Stan, who had grown agitated. “What about you?”

“Let’s just go back to the movie,” he said, crossing his arms and turning away. Stan shrunk back into the corner of the sofa in stark contrast to Richie’s position.

Eddie wouldn’t hear of it. “No! Stan, don’t you get it? This doesn’t happen,” he said, kneeling in front of him. “Don’t you see? Multiple people having the same nightmare?” Eddie shook his head, still blown away by it. “It’s not even concerning to you?”

Stanley stood up. He was pissed and clearly uncomfortable. “No! Eddie, enough! There has to be a rational explanation,” he said, pacing. “We spend an inordinate amount of time together. We talk about everything,” he tousled his hair nervously, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “Clearly we-” he caught and corrected himself with a sweeping gesture, “you must all be working through the same thing.” He moved back from Eddie. It was clear, even if he wasn’t having nightmares, the thought of it was making him uncomfortable. “We’re supposed to be distracting you from this shit, right? So why are we talking about it?”

“Because this isn’t just over some math test, Stan!”

Stanley reached down and grabbed his backpack. “Fine. You guys stay here and worry yourselves into an early grave. I’m leaving.”

And he did.

His friends called after him, but Stanley was in his car and gone before the door had fully closed. They looked around at each other nervously. “So, what now?” Ben asked eventually, painfully aware of the sudden concern among them.

“Well, I guess we should compare notes,” Bill suggested with a tense shrug.

Over the course of the evening, one thing was clear. Something was wrong. Every one of them described the same thing; a bloated clown with runny makeup who looked like he’d been left to drown, an overwhelming scent of mildew and popcorn, and the knives. Even if, like Bev, they didn’t remember much else, they remembered the knives.

The thing about dreams is that there can’t really be anything done about it. It was unsettling, yeah, but it wasn’t like they could stop it. They decided it would be best to pair off, even though there were enough rooms that that shouldn’t have really been a concern.

Bev and Bill took Richie’s room. Richie and Eddie took his parents' room because if anyone was sleeping in a California King, it was going to be Richie. Mike and Ben shared the downstairs guest bedroom.

“More appropriate if it was them out here. At least Richie would know that he won’t have to clean his sheets with us,” Mike grumbled, watching as the couples headed upstairs. “I don’t know how you do it, Ben,” he said, deluding himself further as he retreated into the guest room. “I really don’t.”

Ben rolled over and stared at the repeating pattern on the arm of the accent chair. He unfocused and refocused his eyes watching the brocade twist and turn, hoping to fall into a kind of hypnosis. He didn’t know how he did it either, but something inside of him twisted. He didn’t want to fall asleep. Something bad was going to happen. Ben took it upon himself to be their sentry.

Of course, that also meant torturing himself for the next 45 minutes. It almost sounded like…

Ben stopped thinking for a moment and just listened. Either Bev and Bill were set on breaking Richie’s room apart or that was two headboards rocking. Carefully, he tried to isolate the voices.

Richie’s room was closest to the front of the house and directly over Ben’s head. That was definitely Bev and Bill> And apparently Bev had quite a mouth on her. Much to his embarrassment, he felt himself stir to life. He shifted awkwardly away from Mike. Ben tried everything to discourage his hard-on. His grandmother naked, car crash, golf. Instead, his mind conjured images of Bev naked, of Beverly crashing into him, of Bev with her hands around his club, teeing up some much more delicate balls. He shook his head, trying desperately to clear the images.

In an effort to distract himself, he listened, trying to isolate the other voices. To the best he could figure, Eddie and Richie must have been fighting over the bed. “Fuck. There,” he heard Eddie whine. “There! That’s-”

“Better?” Richie asked. His voice sounded strange. Almost deeper, teasing. Richie always teased, especially Eddie, but this sounded different to Ben. Maybe he’d been asleep. “Tell me how much better.”

Ben’s eyes shot wide open and he rolled onto the floor. Mike rolled over to face him and gazed down. “Are Richie and Eddie-” He didn’t even get to finish his thought over the scream from Beverly and now mounting cries from Eddie and Richie. “Oh. Oh, wow.”

Ben covered his face in his folded arms for a moment, letting out a muffled scream of his own. He felt like such an idiot. Mike reached out a hand and patted him on the shoulder. Ben sat up and got back onto the bed beside his friend. “Why didn’t they tell us?” he asked eventually when all was quiet once more.

“Because they’re not ready,” Mike offered, knowing the feeling all too well. “They don’t know how we’ll respond, so-”

Ben propped himself up on an elbow. “What’s there to know? We’re cool with Bev and Bill so why-”

Mike arched a singular eyebrow. “Are we cool with them? You seem very not cool with it,” Mike assessed. Ben blushed, which Mike immediately felt bad about. Mike knew he wasn’t exactly thrilled by it, but Ben was devastated. The second part, Mike was even more worried about the interaction. “Besides, they’re both guys. That’s gotta make it even more scary.” He tried to make it seem like it was just a point, not one that would define his own path as well. “Derry is awful that way and-”

Shocked, Ben sat back up. “Do they think we’d hate them if they-”

With a shrug, Mike sat up too. “It’s definitely a possibility. You remember-”

“I do,” Ben said quietly, “but they have to know that we don’t care, right?” He shifted, then laid back down. “I’d hope that any of us felt confident enough in our friendships to realize that it would take a whole lot more than that to chase my sappy ass away, at least.”

Mike just shrugged again, settling down for sleep. He supposed he really hadn’t expected any different from Ben, but it was still a comfort to have heard it verbatim.

Just as the pair had started to drift, Beverly started up again. “Jesus,” Ben hissed. “We have school in like 5 hours.”

Covering his face with a pillow, Mike let out a dismayed laugh. “I just hope he remembers that we have a 1st-period presentation I’d like to not have to do alone.”

Unable to will himself to sleep and unwilling to listen to Beverly again, he eased himself off the couch and slinked onto the patio. Mike rolled over and tried to drown out the noise.

Upstairs, Bill was sleeping soundly beside Bev. She rose from the bed, draping the top sheet around herself and crossed to investigate a noise outside Richie’s window. Seeing Ben wandering by the pool on the side of the house, she waved down sadly, trying to catch his eye to ask what was eating him from far away. No such luck.

She turned away, meaning to go into the bathroom to pee, then get a glass of water. Crossing the threshold, she found herself not in Richie’s bathroom, but the Girls’ Restroom at Derry High and didn’t think anything of it. She looked into the mirror and cleared away a sheet of blood from it before tucking her recently cut strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and staring at herself. Blood continued to cascade down the walls, from the taps, and to overflow the toilets. 

That’s when she heard it. 

Eddie’s metallic screeching. It was echoing down the main hall. She followed after it, catching mere glimpses of tufted shoulders, snatches of pasty white skin. Worse, he seemed to be completely saturated, dripping puddles of a substance the mere thought of which churned Bev’s stomach immediately.

She stopped. The thought occurred to her to turn back. No sooner had she thought it, beginning to climb the steps from the gym to the ground level, she found herself instead ascending the steps to her apartment. Fear coursed through her veins. It had gotten so late. And what kind of attire was a bedsheet to be coming in past 2 am on a school night? Her father would smell Bill on her. He’d beat her senseless, then do it himself to remind her to whom she belonged. She knew it.

Instead of her father, lounging in his La Z Boy, she was greeted by the clown, wearing her father’s coveralls. “Hiya, Bevvie,” he said, voice a low growl.

Gulping for air, she turned back for the door. Before her fingers hit the cool metal of the knob, the unknived hand of the clown was around her throat. “I know what you been doing with those boys, Bevvy. The whole town knows.”

To the outside world, Bev would have seemed to be experiencing little more than a common nightmare. Even her thrashing wasn’t enough to wake Bill, who continued to snore peacefully beside her, his arm under her neck. The only thing a careful observer might have seen was the bunching of the sheet between her breasts and the clean slices through the cotton that so clearly was cut, not torn. 

Meanwhile, she fought desperately against the patriarchal imposter, kicking and screaming. The clown tore through the sheets cleanly, gashing her stomach. In her shock, she shoved back, a very real-world consequence sending Bill tumbling off the bed. 

“You okay, honey?” he asked groggily when he finally realized exactly where he was. When he didn’t get an answer, he tried again. “Bev?”

  
Standing up, he gazed at her, transfixed, unable to comprehend what he was truly seeing. Beverly was floating. Three feet above the bed, she flailed, fending off some unseen attacker. “Beverly!” He backed up, hoping he was still asleep. He pinched the inside of his arm and winced. “Okay,” he said, coking himself toward her. “Okay, okay, okay…” 

His attempt was very much in vain, though. She slammed back against the headboard and slid up the wall, bleeding slowly from her stomach and arms.

By the time he had hopped off the bed, attempting to catch her, the blood was pouring from four long gashes across her abdomen. He let out another scream.

Ben and Richie, who’d heard the commotion and came running, were at the door by then, banging and trying to get it open. Somehow, it seemed to have forged itself into the wall. “Bill? Beverly? What’s going on?”

Eddie stumbled sleepily into the hall. “They back on the kinky shit? Bill said after last time, he wasn’t going to-  
He clammed up seeing Ben’s shock. “Sorry…”

“No, no, it’s just-”

Ben’s explanation was quickly cut offf by another scream from the other side of the door. Bill, this time, urging “Beverly, wake up! Please, Bev, come on!” 

He was almost begging and it threw the boys for a loop. Hearing the fear in Bill’s voice, Richie turned back to Eddie. “Babe, in my dad’s closet is a loose flat rail that never got hung up. Get it so we can bust the hinges?” Eddie nodded and retreated down the hall as Ben shoved his shoulder against the edge. Richie kicked and kicked, hoping to break one of the panels in. 

The screaming died out as Mike slowly made his way up the steps. “Are they done yet?”

A thump.

Some shuffling. 

Silence.

“Mike! Help us break the door down!”

Eddie didn’t even look up as he returned. “Your door opens in, Richie,” he said, sliding the rail in by the handle. “We might be able to shim it open.”

Together, Mike and Eddie pulled the wire rail back and forth while Richie and Ben barrelled the door repeatedly. After a few moments, it gave. 

Swinging open with a violent thud, the boys scattered away from the door. The scene in front of them was something none of them could have expected.

Beverly’s body lay slumped in the corner atop Richie’s dirty laundry and a pile of comic books. The four exchanged worried looks. There was so much blood. Too much blood. And things that belonged inside on the outside.

Eddie crossed to Richie’s open bedroom window, the curtains billowing in the wind. “Bill?” he called out, trying not to be too loud, lest he wake up his mother across the street. Mike stumbled out into the hall, staring wide-eyed at the scene.

Ben knelt at Beverly’s side, gingerly searching for a pulse. Nothing at her wrist or her neck. He reached around for something to cover her. “She wouldn’t want… She-” He stood up and turned back to the bed, retrieving a blanket. “She deserves-”

  
Richie took him by the wrist, guiding him away. “No. The cops… They’ll need to see-”

“They don’t!” Ben argued.

Joining Richie and Ben, Eddie linked his arm into the distraught young man’s, guiding them away. His brain had immediately switched into absentee parent crisis mode. “They do. My dad will take care of her,” Eddie assured him gently. He nodded at Mike, silently gesturing for him to follow. “We have to call 911, Ben.”

Richie slumped an arm over Ben’s shoulders. “They need to figure out what happened and we can’t touch anything.” He sat Ben on the couch and looked gravely at Eddie over their friend’s head.

“It was Bill. Wasn’t it?” He glanced at Mike, who simply hung his head. “Bill killed Beverly.” His voice quivered as Richie picked up the recievver and began to dial. 

A light in Ben’s eyes seemed to quench, a winter fire snuffed to embers with any hope within him. Something inside of him died alongside her. His jaw set square as tears that dared not fall welled in his eyes. If the cops didn’t find Bill-

Frank Kaspbrak was, for all intents and purposes, a good cop. That was something he prided himself on. The only thing that ranked higher in his mind was being a good dad to a great son. Even if his ex-wife made it near impossible for him to see Eddie, Frank was not going to let Sonia, the force, or an act of God keep him from that. So, imagine his surprise when he received a call from the house across the street from Sonia and Eddie at 3 am on a Wednesday morning, from Eddie’s best friend, no less, that someone’s been killed, a girl his son ran with, and that her boyfriend went out the window to avoid it. That was something he expressed to Eddie, quite loudly, as he sat in Richie’s kitchen.

“Explain yourself, young man,” he said, voice booming amid the cacophony of sounds around the Tozier residence.

Eddie hung his head, shoulders slumped. “I did, dad.” He folded his arms on the kitchen table. “I told Officer Corcoran everything.” Reading his father’s stern expression like a well-worn comic book, he sighed, resigned to the fact that he was going to have to go over it again. “I had a really bad nightmare. Richie suggested that we all crash here. Apparently, we had all been having weird dreams for the last couple of nights. Mom’s zonked anyway, so I wouldn’t have felt safe and would have slept here either way. We paired off so nobody was alone,” he said, stopping to drop his hand into his lap.

“What about Stanley?” his father asked, concerned. He knew these kids well enough to know that, even discounting Bill and Bev, there was one missing. “Is he here somewhere alone?”

Eddie shook his head. “Stan left early. We freaked him out, I guess.” He closed his eyes, then continued. “Bev and Bill were asleep, then we heard some screaming that…”

Leaning back against the fridge, Frank sighed. “That were different than the ones from before they fell asleep, but you had to make sure, so it took longer to get to them?” he supplied, seeing his son’s discomfort as he tried to explain. When Eddie balked, he continued. “There were 2 used condoms in the trash by the bed. God knows they’re not from Richie,” he laughed shortly. Eddie blanched, swallowing thickly. “You’re teenagers. Bev and Bill have been together as long as Ben’s had a crush on her. Nothing about this is a surprise to me.”

Eddie nearly laughed at that himself. “Yeah, I guess.” That was something that Eddie truly loved about his father. He wasn’t hung up on anything that he knew well enough that he had done as a teenager. He was, as far as the rest of his friends' parents were concerned, in his opinion, the best. “Still, we got there quick, but the door was stuck.”

“Locked?”

“No, stuck,” Eddie corrected insistently. He could still feel the strain in his arms from their efforts to pry it open. “It wasn’t moving at all. Like it was one piece.” He couldn’t bear to look at his father. He knew he sounded crazy. He heard himself. “When we got in the room, Bill was gone, the window was open, and Bev was-” He trailed off. He couldn’t say it. Dead didn’t seem to cut it. 

Frank scrubbed at his eyes a little, then sat down. “I’m sorry, kiddo. This is-” In his 25 years on the force, he’d only ever seen something like this once before. The worst part o that was that it was the Denbrough boy’s kid brother.

There had been a string of dead kids a few summers back. The neighbor on the corner had called in that the sewer beside her porch seemed to be spewing blood into the street. He hadn’t taken the call seriously. The woman was nothing more than a raging busybody, perpetually a nuisance to the Derry P.D. By the time he’d gotten there, little Georgie Denbrough looked more like a jigsaw puzzle than a seven-year-old boy. Bill, and by extension, Eddie and all their friends, had been thirteen.

The little boy’s death had shaken the community to it’s core. It was tragic and senseless. Even still, just shy of five years later, people were leery to let their kids out of their sight. The killer had never been found. Somehow, though, seemingly overnight, the killings had stopped. Peace had been restored. 

Still, something about that case that summer had changed Frank. It had even led to his divorce, among other things.

To catch another gruesome case, with another tie back to Denbrough. It didn’t rest well with his soul.

“Do you know where Billy could have gone, Eddie?” he asked. “If anyone would know, I think it would be you.”

Eddie was at a loss. “I just hope he’s okay,” he said somberly, shaking his head. Then, it hit him. He looked up at his father. “You know Bill didn't do this, right?” For the first time in his life, Eddie’s father avoided his question. It shocked him. He didn’t know what to do. “Dad, this wasn’t Bill.”

Instead of an answer, Frank left the room. Eddie slammed ed his fist on the table and moved to follow him into the living room. His father beckoned Richie onto the porch leaving Eddie with Mike and Ben.

To the surprise of his friends, Ben spoke first. “You don’t know that it wasn’t Bill.”

Mike and Eddie turned to face him, a broken expression across his kind face. “How can you say that?” Mike asked. “He would never-”

“Oh, come off it, Mike,” he snapped. “Just because you’re in love with Bill doesn’t mean he’s a saint.”

Eddie’s eyes widened in shock. Mike was gay? That, he supposed, was a conversation for another day. In the meantime-

“And just because you’re in love with Bev doesn’t mean he’s out to ruin your life!” Mike argued. “Maybe you had something to do with it! Jealousy’s a real bitch, Benny-boy.”

Ben stood up, rage flooding his eyes. “I was next to you the whole fucking time!”

Shaking his head, Mike pointed out the front door. “Where did you go when we heard all four of them start round two? The porch! The window was open, Ben!” He blasted. Frankly, he stood, looking at the clock. “Eddie, is your dad almost done with Richie?” he asked. He picked up his backpack and shrugged it on. “I wanna go grab my car before school.”

“He should be,” he said quietly as he looked out the open door to check, a small peculiar going in his father’s eyes. He was so desperately avoiding the fact that, apparently he and Richie were out, now. “But he also said not to go to school today, just in case he-”

Mike scoffed. “Fuck that. I have that presentation-”

“Mike," came a deep voice from the porch. “Wanna come talk to me so I can get you out of here?”

Eddie gulped. How much of all of that had his dad heard? Either way, Mike answered, “Gladly.” Richie patted him on the shoulder as they passed. Mike gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Just remember, Ben,” he said, turning back to face him. “We all lost someone tonight. And we’ve still only got each other. If you see him, remember that.”

Mr. Kaspbrak led him outside. “Come on, son.” He followed quickly, eager to be done with Ben for the night.

Walking over to Eddie, Richie closed him in a tight hug, welcomed readily and unquestioned. Obviously, it was out there now. Richie leaned down and kissed him on the top of the head. “You’re staying here today. We’re gonna order lunch and just…”

“What about your parents?” Eddie asked. It didn’t seem like a great idea to be in an active crime scene. “Are they coming home?” 

Richie shook his head. “Dad’s meetings can’t be rescheduled and mom doesn’t want to see the house without him.” Richie tightened his arms around him once more. “Your dad said you and I aren’t suspects, but we should still-”

“He said-”

He smiled. “Apparently, Mike and Ben hearing us was a benefit,” he said with a shrug. “And, when we were in the same room, locked on the other side of the door with mike-”

“So, he knows?” Eddie closed his eyes and buried his face in Richie’s chest. This was certainly not the way he had hoped to go about this. 

“Not only does he know,” Richie said, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “He said ‘It’s about damn time,” hugged me, then threatened to shoot me if I ever let anything happen to you.”

Eddie laughed a little. “He did not!”

Turning back for verification, hoping Ben had heard, Richie said, “Did so! You had to hear it, didn’t you, Hayst-” They were alone in the room. Richie furrowed his brow. “Ben? Are you still here, man?”

Frank peeked his head in the door. “Did he leave?”

“I guess so,” Eddie answered before calling out himself. “Ben, are you here?” He moved into the kitchen. “Hey, come on, man. We’re sorry about everything. Just-”

It was too late. Ben had taken off in search of Bill. Deep down, he didn’t believe Bill could do it. He didn’t believe Bill was capable of anything like that. He’d seen her mutilated body. That was done by a monster. Still, why run? If he didn’t have something to hide. By the time Ben reached the corner of Neibolt Street and saw the creepy, beaten-down old house, he noticed bloody footsteps leading into the brush.

He stopped and turned to face it. “Bill? Are you there?” The plant seemed to nod and he ducked in. “Bill? What the hell, man?”

Bill, wearing a pair of Richie’s pajama bottoms and doused in sticky, dark blood, simply shivered. “I don’t know. Ben, I don’t know what happened. She just-”

Shirking off his grey hoodie, leaving himself in a baseball undershirt, Ben asked, “What? She just split wide open?” His dismay was palpable. He knew that. Still, he couldn’t help it. “It looks like you cut her open.”

“I know,” Bill cried. “I know what it looks like, but, Ben, why would I ever? I love her!”

Ben folded his arms sternly, staring at the ground between them. “Then why did you run?”

Bill laughed grimly. “How do I explain that my girlfriend started levitating and then gashed open without having seen someone else there? “Ben’s silence wasn’t exactly comforting. “There had to be. But, I opened the window. If they were in there, they were there all night. And the way she-” His eyes glazed over and he lost himself in thought.

“The way she what?”

Immediately thinking better of suggested that Bev levitated and started bleeding spontaneously like some stigmata story, he shook his head. “Forget it. You think I’m guilty, so-” Before he could finish his thought, sirens blared and the street flooded strobing reds and blues. “Yeah. I figured as much.”

“Bill, I didn’t, I swear!” Ben didn’t have the opportunity to plead his innocence, though, because Bill was, once again, gone. 

Taking off into the still clear direction toward the outskirts of town, Bill skidded to a halt as two patrol cars sped toward him. He turned to head them off, but found himself surrounded. He cursed under his breath and laced his fingers behind his head, dropping to his knees.

Ben edged timidly out of the bush, his own hands up. “What happened? Why?” he asked as Mr. Kaspbrak stepped out of his car and joined him.

“You were on a mission,” he said quietly. “You kids get each other better than anyone else. There was no denying that you or Mike would find him first.”

He watched his friends’ father carefully. “You used me,” he realized sadly. “You used me and now they’ll all hate me.”

Frank shook his head, resting his hand on Ben's shoulder gently. “Not if he did it.”

Wordlessly, Ben shrugged him off, heading for anywhere that wasn’t there. He walked past Richie’s, but decided against it. He thought he might swing by Bill’s, try to explain it to his parents. Eventually, he realized they probably wouldn’t want to hear it from him. Admittedly, the Denbroughs were the parents he knew the least, so that probably wasn’t a great idea. Mike went to school, which Ben was not about to do. Then, it hit him. Stan. He didn’t know. He didn’t know about any of it. That was where he had to go. 

Back at Richie’s, the boys lay entwined in his parents' bed watching vacantly as a couple argued on a shitty daytime talk show because the woman had omitted the part of her life’s history where she was a stripper by rade and her birth certificate read Matthew, not Madison. As the on-set bouncer stepped between, Richie felt himself finally dozing, his cheek rested upon Eddie’s head. 

Meanwhile, Mike sat in his first-period psychology class and stared at the empty desk beside him. He couldn’t fathom where Bill might have gone. He had seen Bev’s body, naked and bleeding, and couldn’t allow himself to believe that she was dead. So much had happened the night before, but the one thing that hadn’t was sleep. Suddenly, the large textbook in his lap seemed awfully inviting, It would only be a minute before Ms. Tate started class anyway…

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Ben asked Stanley as the boys leaned against his front porch rail. It was lucky, he supposed, that Mr. Kaspbrak had called the Urises that morning. Otherwise, Stan would have been at school, too. “It might be better to have someone here.”

Stan shook his head. “Didn’t seem to help Beverly, did it?”

It was a mean thought, one that wounded Ben deeply. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he lied, hoping the pain wasn’t too apparent. “I’ll probably just go home, then.”

“I’m sorry, Ben,” Stan called after him as he padded down the walk. “It’s not-”

Waving his hand over his shoulder dismissively, Ben turned toward the center of town. Stan’s heart ached for his friend, it did, but he still firmly believed that acknowledging the nightmares, talking about them, all that would do is invite the darkness in. 

Stanley was not about to be that guy.

Instead, he walked himself upstairs, drew himself a bath, and tried to will himself to relax. It worked quickly, the foamy lavender whisking him off and the warm water enveloping him into an easy slumber.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Eddie rose from the bed, careful not to disturb his still sleeping boyfriend. He thanked his lucky stars that, after all that had happened, at least one of them could get a halfway decent nap. He couldn’t imagine sleeping, himself, so he turned off the TV, now mindlessly allowing Days Of Our Lives to pollute the room with Kristen’s sobs, and let himself out to make a pot of coffee. Doubling his usual amount, he pressed the switch to on and focused on staying awake as the pot filled. 

Upstairs, Richie tossed in his sleep as the warm aroma of coffee filled the room. He sat up, groaned, then called out for Eddie. “Babe, did you bring the coffee pot upstairs,” he asked, bringing himself out of bed only to find his whole house decked out in Christmas regalia. He crossed to the doorway and traced his fingers across a bright red bow. His parents never did red bows. They were a strictly snow, snowmen, nativity house. Red only matched Santa. This looked, in Richie’s mind, somewhat Dickensian, like sued set dressings from a community theatre production of A Christmas Carol and he was smack in the middle of the third act, waiting on the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Except, as his fingers drew back, they were coated in sticky, red blood. He observed it before heading downstairs and out into the street. 

Mike rose from his desk in his psych class and approached the window. The center of town was filled with smoke. He looked back at his classmates. “Is anyone seeing this?” No one moved. They all faced front, stock-still as though mesmerized by Miss Tate’s monotonous recitation of Haddaway’s What Is Love. “Hello? The town is-” He turned back to the window and, through the smoke, saw it. A huge Christmas tree completely ablaze. He grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall and took off running toward the town square. 

Stanley’s head lilted to the side. His mother had warned him a thousand times not to fall asleep in the bathtub, but that night, her advisements seemed a billion miles away. As he snoozed, a knived hand emerged from the bubbles, wriggling forebodingly. completely unaware, Stan sunk beneath the water, jerking wide awake. He tried to scream as he came face to face with It. 

It terrified him. His friends had been right. The clown was bloated, decaying. His bright yellow eyes shone through the bathwater which seemed suddenly to stretch on for miles and miles. He felt the claws knick his forearm and the clammy fingers around the other pulling him down further and further until he felt himself launch through the air and land with a thud. Gasping for breath, his lungs filled with-

Smoke.

It was all around the town, but seemed to be emanating from the town square. Lo and behold, beside the needlessly daunting Paul Bunyan statue was a Christmas tree ablaze. Deep within the smoke, two figures emerged. 

From where Richie was, he could just barely make out the voices, but they seemed to be arguing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was drowning!”

“In a fire extinguisher?”

“No, Mike. In my fucking bathtub, but I saw It. I saw Eddie’s fucking clown and it pulled me through the water until I shot out of your fucking fire extinguisher!”

Richie’s heart pounded as he began to put it together. They were dreaming, obviously. All if them. That was good. If they were together, that was good. “Mike?! Stan?!” he called into the night, only peripherally aware that it had hardly been 8 am when he dozed off. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Richie” Mike called out. “Richie? Is that you?” He sounded skeptical, like he didn’t want to believe it. “What are you doing here?”

He rolled his stinging eyes as he moved for where he could only hope they were. “Roasting marshmallows. What do you think, asshole?” Finally, he reached Stan, only to find him naked, wet, and bleeding. “So, it caught you and you tried to fuck your way out of it?”

“Very funny, dickwad. Help me up!” He reached up and flexed his fingers toward his friend. When Richie pulled him up, he launched into a hug. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I doubted you. I’m sorry about Bef. I’m-”

Mike interrupted him. “How do you kn-”

Stan shook his head, then filled him in on the inquisition from Mr. Kaspbrak and the attempted visit from Ben. “He tried to warn me, but-’

“But I get you in your dreams,” laughed a shrill, gurgling voice. “All of you have to sleep sometime.” The boys clung to each other’s sides, looking into the haze for the source. “Never had three at once before, but it’ll be a feast.” The voice morphed into a growl. “A Christmas miracle, don’t you think?” The ground shook. Three pounding footsteps. 

Boom.

Boom. 

Boom. 

Each trembling breath the boys took brought the huge, thundering clown closer. “What do we do?” Stan asked, looking at his friends. “How do we fight It?”

As It’s form finally cleared into view, Richie jumped forward. “It’s just a dream. You’re not real,” he shouted.

Stunned, the clown eyed them, clicking his blades together menacingly. He rushed on them. 

Instantly, he grabbed Mike by the neck and twisted. The boy’s eyes bulged from their sockets, leaking bloody tearstains down his cheeks. He kicked and cried out, his friends desperately reaching for him. It was no use. The clown was too tall. Before they could even grab a weapon, It had ripped Mike’s head clean off, tossing it into the fire. The two remaining boys screamed out in agony for their friend. Their cries fell on deaf ears. 

It laughed and moved on them once more, snatching Richie’s shirt and hoisted him by it like a schoolyard bully. Scratching the sharpest tip of the blade down Richie’s cheek, drawing out blood and a loud yell, he asked gleefully, “Am I real enough yet?”

Right before his eyes, Stan watched as his friend flew backwards through the air, disappearing into the smoke. He turned and ran off, quickly finding himself on the deck of the Derry Townhouse’s pool. 

Looking around, shocked, Stan tried to remember if he had ever been there. He knew he hadn’t. He knew the only time he had ever even seen it was when he was very young. He, Bill, Richie, and Eddie had hung on the fence, staring longingly at the crystal blue waters. They’d wanted so badly to go swimming that sweltering August day, but the innkeeper had chased them off. He hadn’t thought of that day in years. They’d found the quarry that same day, he remembered. It was like the universe had offered them an alternative they’d gladly taken. 

Still, that childhood temptation was strong. He reached down and trailed his fingers along the glimmering surface.

Up from the water shot the now too familiar knived hand of the clown. It clenched around his forearm and dragged down the length.

Stanley recoiled. He attempted to put pressure on it with his free hand. The world began to swim as he bled.

In an instant, the clown lunged from the water again. This time, it grabbed his uninjured arm, scoring it deeply, and dragged him down into the water.

He fought for his life. He kicked. He tried to scream. He tried to push away but his arms quickly gave out. The water filled his lungs in gasps and bubbles. The more he panicked, the worse it got. He could hear a loud thud in the distance. Best he could figure, it was either Ben or his mother, trying to break the door down, but it was just too little too late. 

He’d be long gone by then. 

“Babe!”

Richie was still falling. Still Screaming. Still fighting. 

“Richie, wake up!”

Eddie grasped him firmly by the shoulders and shook. “Wake up!”

With a start, he finally did. Panting, he stood up, looking for something. “Stan!” he shouted. “Stan, where are you?!”

As he retrieved the coffee cup from the bedside table, Eddie sat where his boyfriend had been sleeping. “Stan left last night,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Before-”

“No, he was-” Richie stopped, surveyed the room and realized, finally, he was no longer in the square. There was no smoke. No clown. No danger. In the waking world, he was safe. “He’s not okay. We have to go.” He grabbed Eddie and yanked him off the bed. 

For not the first time, the boys were grateful that most of them lived so nearby. Slipping into shoes on their way out the door, Richie filled Eddie in on his dream. Eddie blanched. “If they were both there, shouldn’t one of us-”

Richie gave his head a slow shake. “Mike’s gone. We might still be able to save Stan. I just hope he’s better at hiding.”

They reached the Uris residence in record time, only to find flashing lights and sirens. Richie let out a blood-curdling scream. Eddie could do no more than track the familiar frame of his father as he took off his hat and wiped his face. He pointed to the house, then turned away as the officers went in. 

Eddie felt the world fade out from under him. His knees gave out and, before he knew it, he was coming to on the ground. 

“What happened, Eds?” Richie asked from where he knelt beside him. “God, I”m so glad you’re ok. You are, right?” he yammered. “You scared the shit out of me. 

“Give him some room, kiddo,” Frank said, placing a gentle hand on Richie’s shoulder to guide him back. “Think you can sit up?”

Eddie nodded tentatively, before taking the outstretched hands of his father and boyfriend to hoist himself up. “I don’t know what happened, I just…”

“Have you two slept at all?” Frank asked, barreling past the obvious. “That’s the point of-” The boys shook their heads and the man simply sighed. “Well, go back to Richie’s, then.” Seeing the argument brewing in his son, he added, “There’s nothing you two can do here. It was a pretty straightforward suicide. Poor Stan.”

“A what?!” Richie asked, outraged. “It wasn’t a-”

“His wrists were slit to the elbows and he was in the tub, Richie,” Frank answered, slowly helping each of the boys to their feet. “He never mentioned feeling this way?”

It was Eddie’s turn for frustration. “No! We were with him last night. If we had known-” He paused. He couldn’t truthfully say he wouldn’t have let him leave. They knew. They knew he was in danger. They knew something was chasing them in their dreams. They knew they should have all stayed together. It didn’t help Bev, he reasoned, but their odds were better together.

Instead of finishing his argument, he rerouted. “Was there a note? Did he say why?”

Frank simply shook his head. “Just… go, okay? Take care of each other. Call your friends. Have them come back to your place.”

Before Richie could mention their depleted numbers, a radio behind Frank screamed to life. “Calling all cars. Possible homicide. 32 Bradley Lane. Ha-”

The policeman's eyes widened. As he looked to his son for confirmation. “Isn’t that-”

“Mike!” The boys yelled, giving all the answer that was necessary.

Firmly, Frank grasped Richie’s shoulders. “Take Eddie back to your house and stay there.” Neither boy seemed pleased with tha, but Richie still nodded. He’d seen what happened to Mike in his dream. He was in no rush to see it in real life. He gave a somber nod and wrapped an arm around Eddie. 

“What about mom?” he asked over his shoulder. “If she knows, she’ll be-”

Frank waved his son off. “I’ll take care of your mother,” he assured. “Keep each other safe. Call Ben.”

“Shouldn’t we try to find Bill?”

His question went unanswered. When Eddie asked again, his father shook his head. “Bill’s safe. Don’t worry-”

“If you’ve had Bill in custody all day, he obviously couldn’t have done this,” Eddie pled. “Let him go.” His father turned away. “Dad, please!”

Richie directed his boyfriend toward the street. “We know where he is. He’s surrounded by cops. We can check on him. Ben’s alone. No one can help him but us.” Eddie’s face dropped. There was no argument. He knew Richie was right. He just hoped they’d get to him in time. 

As it turned out, Ben was sitting on Richie’s front steps when they went back. His face was pale. He seemed to have aged a decade since the pre-dawn hours of that morning. “Stan’s dead.” It wasn’t a question. He had seen the lights from where he had camped out down the street. He didn’t want to go home. There had been something in the look on his friend’s face. He hadn’t wanted to go far. He had intended to wait an hour or so, then go back. Even if Stanhadn’t been out of the tub yet, Mrs. Uris would have let him stay and wait. All of the moms, even Mrs. Kaspbrak and Mrs. Denbrough who didn’t seem to like much of anything were pleased enough to have Ben around. It would have been fine. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as he began to weep openly.

Tears Ben had been holding back all morning poured from him like a flash summer thunderstorm. Richie and Eddie flanked him, holding him close. “We got you, man. You’re safe.”

“We’re not, though,” he sniffled. “Until we figure this out, it’s going to pick us off one by one.

Eddie looked helplessly at Richie. He turned to face both of them. “Ben, we’re going to figure this out. Richie figured out this morning that we can all find each other in our dreams,” he said, trying to comfort him.

“So, we could have saved-”

Moving down a step, Richie explained. “No, don’t think that. Stan and I were with Mike when-”

“Mike?” he blurted out, ”What about Mike?”

All of the blood drained from Richie’s face. “I don’t think I can talk about it,” he said quietly. “It was horrible and so bloody. More blood than a person holds and-”

Ben felt his body lurch forward. “Mike’s dead too? The last thing I said-” He moved into the middle of the path. “He can’t be. How do you know?”

Through bitterly pursed lips, Eddie explained what they heard at Stan’s. “He’s gone. It’s horrible, but it’s true.”

“Why is this happening?” Ben sobbed, more to the sky than either of his friends.

Still, Richie answered. “I don’t know, but come inside. That’s what we want to find out.” He reached a hand out to him. Eddie comforting him as they all went inside, locking the door behind them.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!” Bill screamed, hoping against all hope that somebody, anybody would hear him. He thrust his fists against the bars of his tiny, temporary holding cell. “I didn’t do anything and you know it!” He paced around in circles, running through the previous night in his mind. He knew that it couldn’t possibly have happened the way he remembered. Beverly did not get thrown around the room like a child’s doll, discarded in a temper tantrum. She didn’t levitate. She most definitely didn’t spontaneously cut open at the abdomen. Now=ne of that was possible. Someone had to have been in that room with them. But how? Where would they have been hiding? How did he not catch even the slightest hint of them? His mind stirred and whirled as he watched the last beams of sunset fade from view out of the few slatted bars that made up his window.

Sooner or later, he was going to fall asleep, he realized. All he could hope for was a night’s sleep without the damned nightmares. He needed to feel like he wasn’t crazy, even in dreams. Laying on the stiff, scratchy cot, he stared at the dark ink stains on his fingertips.

In his mind, it was simple to imagine Georgie focusing on them with him. He’d explain it to him and immediately he’d want his fingerprints taken, too. If Bill did it, Georgie would have been close by, mimicking his every move. “You don’t want to follow me this time, Georgie. This isn’t a good thing.”

“But it’s you, Billy. It can’t be that bad,” came his baby brother’s voice, sending him straight back out of bed. His pulse rushed as he looked him square in the eye. 

He blinked absently. “Georgie? How are you here?” He rubbed his eyes. “This can’t be real. I have to be going crazy.”

The little boy laughed joyously. “You’re not crazy, Billy!” He moved toward his big brother. Bill watched him carefully, gauging him like he would a wild animal. “If I weren’t real,” he said, taking one last big step, ‘how could I do this?” He flung his arms around Bill’s neck and his warm embrace was enough to crumble his delicate reserve.

Bill sobbed openly, his tears soaking the child’s hair. He clutched his baby brother tight. He didn’t want to think about what this meant, none of the options being particularly appealing. Still, he pried himself back and asked once more, “How are you here? You’re dead.” He sniffled, thinking about all the time he could have spent looking for him- would gladly have spent scouring every inch of Derry if there hadn’t been a body. He’d seen it, mangled and decaying. Neither of his parents could bring themselves to identify him, so Mr. Kaspbrak and he had done it. “Georgie, there was a funeral. We buried you! How-”

He pressed one outstretched finger to Bill’s lips. In the blink of an eye, his finger transformed into a cold metal claw. He laughed, voice suddenly waterlogged and distorted. “I said I was real,” he clarified, his voice sounding less Georgie by the syllable and his tiny frame bloating and distorting alongside, “I never said I was precious baby Georgie!”

Without time to respond and no way of escaping, Bill found himself face to face with It.

The three boys sat quietly on the floor of Richie’s living room, a pot of coffee between them. Richie had spoken his piece, explaining to the best of his abilities what he knew. Or what he thought he knew. “They each sipped their cups, lost in thought. Richie kept replaying the look on his face just before It tagged him. Ben ran through Richie’s account and combined it with Bill’s story, berating himself for ever thinking that he could be guilty. Eddie, on the other hand, was seemingly a lifetime away. His mind lingered on his mother’s unexpected but unwavering trust of his friends’ moms and the way it had come up seemingly overnight. It hadn’t occurred to him before then, but his mother had been downright hateful, nevermind distrusting of them all until… He tried to place an event that would have explained it but struggled. He caught a glimpse of the photo of himself, Richie, Bill, and Stan on the Tozier’s mantle from their 8th-grade graduation and it struck him.

Georgie.

The weekend after Georgie died, the summer before that picture, his mother had gone out with ‘the girls.’ He had never heard her mention ‘the girls’ before then, or anytime after. Apparently, his father hadn’t either because, when he questioned her about it at dinner, she told him simply that she had a life too. If she did, it was news to Eddie. There had certainly never been any evidence of it. She’d crept in late and started a roaring fire in the old wood-burning stove in the kitchen. Eddie only remembered it because he had marked it odd. His mother always, always ran hot, so she said.

Now that he really thought about it, he couldn’t remember if he’d seen her sober at all since then. Shortly thereafter, his parents divorced. It seemed, suddenly, that all 3 of those occurrences were intrinsically linked.

It was Ben’s voice, sot and scared, that stirred him from his thoughts. “So, what now, then? He rocked forward to pour himself another cup. “Do we just let it happen? Do we resolve ourselves to a life of insomnia?” He looked pensively into the dark liquid. “Do you think we can fight it?”

Chewing at his lip nervously, Eddie glanced at his boyfriend. Richie shook his head solemnly, appearing resigned to imminent death. “Maybe we can,” he said, drawing both of their attention immediately. “The injuries are real enough. And this morning,” he looked tentatively at Ben before remembering that their secret was out. Turning back to his boyfriend. “Look at your cheek. And you said that Stan was naked and drenched. Like he’d been in the tub?” He waited for Richie to nod in acknowledgment before he continued. “I’d bet you anything that the cuts on his wrists match your cheek perfectly.”

Richie shrugged. “So? What difference does that make? All that means is that he can do real damage to us.” He shook his head, deciding that there was clearly no offense to be taken. “The only thing we can do is hope we make it out alive. 

That was not the answer Eddie wanted. That was not the life he wanted to live. “No. No, I don’t accept that,” he said resolutely. “Do your parents have any sleeping pills upstairs?”

“Yeah, my mom has trouble sleeping sometimes. Why-” he looked up to see Eddie running up the stairs two by two. “No. Babe, no!” He called out while chasing after him. “Eds, you have to be kidding me!” He followed right into the bathroom, blocking the medicine chest fully. “I can’t let you do this. You think you’re going to willingly throw yourself to this thing alone? I had Mike and Stan last night and I’m the only one of us left.” He grabbed Eddie’s wrists and pulled him closer, giving him no option but to look up at him. “I can’t lose you.”

Arching to his tiptoes, Eddie pressed a gentle kiss to Richie’s lips. “You’ll be there to wake me up,” he said quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

With a sigh, Richie resolved to Eddie’s rough idea of a plan. He could tell by the look in his eyes that this was an argument he wasn’t going to win. He ran his fingers through Eddie’s hair and looked at him seriously, wondering for a moment how he’d ever gotten so lucky. He kissed him once more before stepping aside. He watched carefully as he plucked one oblong tablet from the box.  
‘  
Together, they walked down the steps to Ben. He looked up at them and gulped hard. This didn’t look good. He protested thoroughly as Eddie filled him in.

“What if it doesn’t work?” he asked, glancing between the couple. “What if something happens and we don’t know? What if we can’t wake you up in time?”

Eddie shook his head. “You’ll wake me up. I have faith in you guys.” He tugged a throw pillow off the couch and laid it in Richie’s lap. “Remember. Fifteen minutes. That’s it. No longer.”

“If I let you go that long,” Richie murmured.

Ben nodded in assent. “First sign of distress and you’re back in the waking world.

Taking that warning to heart, Eddie motivated himself to work as quickly as he could. He was determined to end this. “Kiss me goodnight?” he asked, suddenly more nervous than before. 

Instinctively, Richie leaned down and obliged. “I’ll wake you with one, too.”

Eddie gave a dry laugh. “I love you.”

  
He smoothed the hair from his boyfriend’s eyes and answered, “I love you too.”

Under direct scrutiny of Richie and Ben, Eddie dry swallowed the pill. He knew well enough that these were fast-acting. He’d seen his mother use them often enough. What he hadn’t expected was the near-instantaneous effect. It made enough sense, he supposed. He was exhausted. Richie was drawing light, swirling lines on his neck and back. Plus, he certainly wouldn’t have his mother’s tolerance for them, never having taken one and being much more slight of frame.

Before he knew it, he was fast asleep and moving toward the door. He flicked the lights twice on his way by, hoping that it might have some real-world effect. He’d told Ben and Richie he would try to signal them that he was leaving the room.

He walked toward the street and took a breath, deciding where he was heading. In the distance, the telltale groan of metal on metal made up his mind for him. He turned toward the center of town. By the time he reached the corner of his street, he was standing on the steps of the Derry Courthouse and Jail.

Eddie took a moment. “Why here?” he thought. With a sidelong glance at the front door, he followed his instincts to the side. He peered in a tiny, barred window at the base of the building. Frozen, he stifled a scream. He was in immediate danger and he knew it, but he couldn't take his eyes off the window. “Bill,” he whispered, breath catching in his throat as he stepped back. “Oh, Bill, I’m so sorry.”

Before him, his first best friend dangled 3 feet off the floor. Eyes squeezed tight, body limp, it appeared as though Bill had hung himself.

Eddie knew better.

Still, this was different. This wasn’t soaked in blood. All this did was make Bill look guilty. Eddie turned away, unable to look at the purplish pallor of his face any longer. 

He didn’t know where he was going until the sewer grate stood open wide before him. He shuddered, imagining the zillions of diseases he could catch walking around in a place like that. Still, he forced himself onward. He couldn’t possibly tell how long he’d been asleep, but he needed to know what it held. He needed to see if he was right.

Sloshing on through the muck, Eddie reminisced to himself. Meeting Bev, Stan’s Bar Mitzvah, camping at Mike’s, babysitting Georgie with Bill. Now they were all gone, no more than memories, doomed too soon to fade.

A sudden flush of warmth wrapped over his right hand. A slight pressure on his shin. Richie and Ben. He knew. He could tell, as surely as if he could see them. They were still there, still with him. Instinctively, he squeezed his hand closed and pressed a gentle kiss into his palm. The warm heaviness there grew. “Thanks, Richie,” he thought.

Soldiering on, he followed the new, deafening screech into the centermost chamber of the sewer system. “I’ve been waiting for you, Eds,” the voice of the clown echoed. “Don’t you wanna play?”

“Not here to play,” he spat, grabbing a length of pipe from the edge of the water. “You killed my friends. Now, I want answers.” He paused, choking up on the pipe, “That is before I kill you.”

Ahead of him, he heard squelching footsteps. “Answers?” laughed Bev’s voice. “You don’t really think I’d tell you anything, do you?”

Behind him, a voice laughed deeply. He swung at it. “Come on, Eddie,” Stanley’s voice teased, his sarcasm more pointed and acerbic than usual. “If you were supposed to know, I’d have left a note.”

Eddie dodged as a massive, knifed hand swung at him. “Not likely.” He swung at it again, this time making strong contact. If this thing, whatever It was, had bones, Eddie definitely heard some crunch. “What are you?”

“I’m your best friend,” It answered in Bill’s voice before growling, “and your worst nightmare.”

He turned to his left and found himself face to face with the clown. “No. Try again,” he argued, swinging the pipe wildly until it struck again. The clown recoiled and swiped at him again, knicking Eddie’s arm. In the distance, he could faintly make out Richie and Ben trying to wake him up. “Not yet,” he thought. In a last-ditch effort, he grabbed the clown’s ruffled collar and pulled him close. He bashed him over the head and the clown tumbled backward. Eddie closed his eyes and threw the pipe with only the   
blind hope that it would land.

When he opened them once more, his face was a hairsbreadth from Richie’s. “There you are,” he said, dropping back on his heels with a sigh of relief. He dragged Eddie up to a seated position and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I told you true love’s kiss would work,” Ben said, inspecting Eddie’s injured arm carefully, making sure they’d bandaged all exposed parts of the wound. “How’re you feeling, Sleeping Beauty?” he asked, joking in an attempt to mask his palpable fear.

Astounded, Eddie smiled. It had worked. “Better, I think,” he answered. From behind Richie’s back, he moved his free hand up, revealing to Ben that he’d brought the collar out with him.

Ben gasped, startling Richie into letting go of his boyfriend. He turned to see what was the matter. He snatched the lace from him and turned it over in his hands. “Pennywise, The Dancing Clown,” he read aloud. “Property of Bob Grey.” He looked up at Eddie, stunned. “Where did-” He stood up and dropped it, backing away carefully, as though from a wild animal poised for attack. “Eddie, how?”

“Pulled it right off of him,” he answered with a shrug. “I thought if we wake up wounded, maybe we can bring other things with us.” He grabbed the collar from the floor and stared at it with wonder. “I guess I was right.”

Unable to share in his enthusiasm, he shook his head.”Do you not remember?” he asked, voice trembling.

Eddie and Ben shared confused glances.

“You wouldn’t, Ben. But, Eddie…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly even more terrified. “Eds, we need to go talk to Bill. Right now,” he reached down to help them to their feet. 

All dreams are shrouded in a sort of a fog. Even dreams like that. It wasn’t until Richie mentioned it that the veil was disturbed. His triumph faded away and his boyfriend knew the truth.

Still, Richie was stubborn. “No,” he shook his head, attempting to remain calm. “Even if it’s true, Eds. Don’t tell me.” His voice broke and, along with it, so too went Eddie’s heart. “We’ll just go down and see together. Please?” he asked.

Ben glanced between the two, wondering what in the hell he had missed. “Go down where?” he asked, fearing that he didn’t really want to know the answer after all. Cautiously, he asked again. “Go where?” When he still didn’t get a response past Eddie standing to hug a now hysterical Richie, he realized.

“Please, Eds,” he sobbed, gripping at the back of his boyfriend’s shirt. “You have to say that you’re joking or that you’re not sure it’s not-” he gasped for air and clutched him tighter. Eddie tried to console him, whispering over and over that they’d get It, that they’d end it. With another broken cry, he leaned harder against him.

Watching them, Ben found himself deep in prayer for the first time in his life. His mother was a reasonably religious woman- went to church when she could, never missed holidays, grace before every meal, went to confession instead of therapy. None of those practices had rubbed off on him before then. He prayed that he was wrong. He prayed for Bill’s safety. He prayed for Beverly and for Mike and for Stan. He prayed for their parents, that they might find solace in their kids being together. He prayed that Eddie and Richie would keep each other safe, that their love was strong enough to last these tragedies. He prayed for himself, for the strength to survive and most of all for forgiveness.

He couldn’t believe that, just the previous night, he had been wishing death upon Bill. He didn’t know what green-eyed monster had come over him, but it was long gone. Just 24 hours before, everything had been okay. Everyone was alive. Everything made sense.

Now, as the 3 boys made their way toward the police station, he could only continue to pray that they were still 4.

“Hey, Eddie,” a kind secretary greeted as they entered the municipal building. “Looking for your dad? He’s-”

Eddie shook his head. “No thanks, Joyce. We were actually hoping to see Bill Denbrough.” The woman cast a pitying glance his way. “Look, he’s our friend. We just want to make sure he’s alright.” Clearly, no one had been to check on him recently or her response would have been different. Either that or Bill really was okay. He wanted that to be the answer. Adding one last-ditch effort, he gave a quiet, exhausted, “Please?”

She sighed and leaned back, glancing down the hallway. Conspiratorily, she leaned forward and slid a key ring to Eddie. “Fine. Go tell Jimmy I said it’s okay. Give him these keys. It’s-”

“1408. I’ll take them, Joyce,” came a steady voice that just about caused Eddie to jump over the counter. “We still set for dinner Saturday?” Frank asked.

She smiled at them, amused at Eddie’s reaction. “You got it, gorgeous. See ya, Eddie. Boys-”

Frank draped his arm around his son’s shoulders and led the boys to the stairs. “You look like shit, boys,” he said, not meaning to sound unkind. “Tell Bill we need him to hang in there just a little longer. We’re almost done. Hopefully by tomorrow morning,” he said. He ruffled Eddie’s hair and let them downstairs. 

“Does that mean-”

“He couldn’t have killed Mike, so we’re eliminating him as a suspect,” Frank answered, folding his arms across his chest. He rubbed his eyes and let out a broad yawn. “We just need him to answer some questions. Maybe you guys can help him cooperate.” When the boys seemed confused, he added, “His morale is lower than this basement. His girlfriend and two of his best friends are dead. Two others have been keeping their relationship a secret. The last thinks he’s a murderer. So, needless to say, Bill doesn’t want to talk anymore. But, if he saw anything or thinks he might know something…”

Eddie nodded, then started down the steps with Ben and Richie in tow. They reached 1407 and Richie immediately lost hold on his stomach, coughing bile and black coffee straight into the trash can. Eddie winced and followed Richie, calling out for his dad. Ben watched in abject horror. He paced backward until his back hit the cell across the way. Bill’s lips were an odd blue, his eyes seemed to bulge directly from his head which lolled to the side. His fingers were bloodied as though he’d fought. The sheet from the cot was twisted into a tight cord and tied from one side of the cell and up over the top, finally looping around his neck where he dangled nearly three feet in the air, away from anything tall enough for him to have stepped or even jumped off of.

By the time Frank answered his son’s shouts, the boys were beside themselves, trying to flick through the keyring to find 1408. He grabbed for the white skeleton key and jammed it into the lock. “Ben, get his feet,” he prompted instinctively. His fingers trembled as they sought pulse points that were far from active. 

Ben leaned back on his heels, unable to make sense of any of it. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were young. They were happy. They weren’t supposed to be dropping like flies.

Frank leaned across Bill to where Eddie and Richie were huddled, Richie desperately trying to wake Bill up. “Eddie, go upstairs. Take them with you. Call 911. Tell them I’m administering CPR but cannot find a pulse,” he coached. 

Eddie nodded, pulling a trembling Richie to his feet. Ben moved to Richie’s side, offering support. He could feel his friend trembling, upsetting his delicate balance further toward hysteria. “Come on, Richie,” he urged pushing him on as he struggled. “Rich, we gotta get him help.”

Skipping steps as he moved ahead, Eddie grabbed for the Wall phone and dialed 911. It struck him as bizarre, calling 911 with half the Derry P.D. roaming the halls, but he wasn’t going to argue. He gave the operator all of the information and waited for the surrounding on-duty officers to answer the dispatch. He heard the dispatch radio call the information. It was in code, so he could only hope Richie and Ben weren’t paying close enough attention to hear the ones that meant “possible suicide” and “minor, murder suspect” and figure it out. 

The boys sat down on the hard, wooden bench along the wall, staring at anything but each other. 

Unlike every other death over the previous 24 hours, this one was calm. Almost serene. No one was running. They’d given up even before they started. Bill was dead. Everyone knew it. 

“So, what do we do now?” Ben asked. He tried to keep his voice low, but he knew his emotions got the better of him more often than not. “I mean-”

A grave look crossed Richie’s face. “Now, we kill this fucking clown.”

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Standing on Richie’s front porch, the three boys stood silently. Their plan was formulated. No one was happy about it, but it was going to have to do.

Eddie gave Ben a hug and then turned to Richie, tugging him down the steps for a moment’s privacy. They stood, hands interlaced. He leaned up and kissed him, confident that their plan would work. “I’ll be back as soon as she tells me why, okay?”

He nodded and rested his forehead against Eddie’s. “Quick, okay? We need to get this over with.” He adjusted himself to kiss Eddie once more. “Tell Sonia not to miss me too much,” he joked. He noted the anxious tightness dissipate as Eddie laughed at him. “I love you,” he said quietly. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” Eddie answered with a bittersweet smile. “I love you, too.” He took a step back, releasing Richie’s hands. “Get the house ready, but don’t start without me, okay?”

Richie laughed at the thought of doing what they were going to do without him. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he teased.

Rolling his eyes, Eddie turned toward his own house. “You have the worst timing, you know that, right?

“And kiss your mother for me,” he called after, earning a one-finger salute in response. He watched Eddie cross the street and head straight into his mother’s house before he turned back into his own. 

The task at hand wasn’t particularly difficult, he supposed. He and Ben were to boobytrap the house, leaving easy weapons in convenient places. The theory was if Eddie could pull out the collar, there was no reason they couldn’t pull out the whole clown. Then, they’d have home-court advantage.

Richie was the only one who was particularly bothered by the plan. Richie, unfortunately, remembered the name Bob Grey. He was the only suspect in that string of child murders a few years back. He’d gotten away with it, some error in filing if he remembered correctly. Two days later, Georgie Denbrough was killed. That weekend, some water main broke and half the town washed away. He remembered the water main because his mom had said it was a baptism, cleansing Derry of its sins in restorative holy water. 

He hadn’t really thought about any of that in years, but it seemed to be all Richie could think about as he and Ben laid tripwires, rigged lamps to short, and affixed heavy items to pendulums above doors. The more of these complex triggers they lay, the better off they were, in case of misfires.

As it turned out, Ben was really good at making the contraptions work. A flip here, a tug there, and the heavy soup pot would come clattering down at head level. Richie was in awe, a bit. He went straight through, doing as he was told, turning his home into a death trap.

When this was all over, he was going to have to really work through everything that had happened, he thought. If, that is, he made it through the night. 

Across the street, Eddie called out to his mother, the house seeking foreign. “In here, Eddie-bear,” she called from the kitchen. “Mommy has dinner all rea-”

“No, I’m not staying,” he said, interrupting her from where he stood, a little ways away. “I just had a couple of questions.” Eddie wasn’t one to interrupt or contradict, but time was of the essence. “What happened the weekend after Georgie Denbrough died? Why did you suddenly start to trust Stan, Bill, and Richie’s moms? You never did before, then suddenly, there’s a huge flood and Georgie’s dead, and you trust them.”

Sonia stopped stirring the sauce for dinner and braced herself on the counter. “Do you not enjoy keeping their company?” she asked hopefully. “I’d just as soon-”

Eddie crossed to her side, still far enough away that he knew he could get out quickly if she snapped. “You know that’s not why.” He pulled the collar out of the back pocket of his jeans, still keeping it obscured behind his back. “I think it has to do with some bond between the four of you. Maybe something to do with Bob Grey.” His mother visibly shuddered. He was right. “Well, whatever it was, Mommy, Stan and Bill are dead. Bev and Mike are, too,” she turned to face him, all color gone from her face. He brandished the ruffled fabric collar toward her. “Now he’s after Richie, Ben, and me and we’re going to stop him.” He nodded, as if proving it to himself. His mother certainly didn’t seem convinced. “We are. But I need to know what happened last time.”

“Bob Grey is dead,” she said quietly. He moved to interrupt her again, but she wouldn’t have it. “He is dead,” she snapped. “You asked me for the truth and you will get it but you have to listen. So, I don’t know where you got that information, Eddie, I don’t, but he is dead and gone.” She moved to the table and sat, eyeing the ruffled lace like it was a venomous snake poised for strike. “He’s dead. I saw it happen, Eddie. I know he is.”

Taking a seat at the opposite end of the table, he watched her with full attention. “How?” he asked. When she didn’t immediately respond, instead, looking down at her fingers, he tried again. “How do you know that he’s dead?”

She reached into the center of the table to the bowl where she kept her Delicious Deals and her Precious Percocets. Unscrewing the lid from the latter, she swallowed two dry. “Because we did it, baby.” She took a long swig off of the cheap wine cooler she held in her hand, cautiously eyeing her son. “After Billy’s angelic little brother, us mommas got together and decided: no more. We weren’t going to let any more of our kids die at this Bob Grey’s hands.”

Eddie’s eyes grew wide. “What did you do?” His voice was quiet, almost timid.

Sonia granted herself a moment- just one- in which she could pretend she was shocked it had come to this and one more to dredge up memories she’d fought and medicated so hard to bury. Then, she sighed and knocked back the rest of her drink. “After they buried that sweet little boy, we were all so worried that it was going to get worse again. All of the victims were kids we knew But Georgie-” She stood and went to the fridge to get another cooler. Snapping it open, she continued. “He was so young and so innocent. And, he was so much more familiar to all of us.” As she leaned back against the counter, she seemed lost in thought. Her eyes scanned the ceiling for something, but Eddie couldn’t possibly figure out what. “So, at Georgie’s funeral, I was talking to Mrs. Denbrough while you played with Bill. She said that she knew it was the Grey man. She had heard the neighbor who found his body say she’d heard voices talking about the circus.” She moved across the room in heavy, trudging steps. She retrieved the broom from the corner and poked around at the ceiling. “Mrs. Tozier had heard about the guy’s hideout. Mrs.. Uris was able to get some public works maps. So, we planned. This had to stop,” she groaned as she finally hit the sweet spot that popped the tile in. She retrieved a neatly bundled package and moved on to sit next to Eddie. She took his hand gently, but all he could focus on was the parcel. “We went down into the sewers and found him. And we killed him. We tied him to a pipe, took his knives, and blew up the pump. We watched the water rise until he was gone. When we were done, we blew up the exit tunnel so if he managed to escape the ties, he certainly couldn’t get out.” She unfolded the cloth and revealed the knived glove. “We killed him, baby. Whatever is happening right now, it’s not Bob Grey.”

Eddie turned the glove over and over in his hands. It didn’t make sense. Short of some intense astral projection scenario the moment before his death, there was no logic to it. “How do you explain this then?”

He shoved the collar toward her and she stripped it back furiously. “I don’t know, Eddie. Maybe one of your friends' mothers is feeling guilty. Maybe your father decided that now was the time to tell you, I don’t know,” she yelled. 

Dad knows?” Eddie asked, stepping away from her in utter betrayal.

Sonia laughed. “Of course he does. Why do you think we split up? A cop can’t stay married to a murderer,” she said sadly. Eddie got the feeling that his father, more likely than not, had said those exact words to her. “But, now you know too,” she said, perking up a little. “Now you know and will understand me when I say it’s not safe,” she said, voice suddenly low and threatening. “It’s not safe and you need to stay here with me, now.”

Eddie backed away again. “You said he’s gone, right,” he stammered, bundling the artifacts close to him. “If he’s gone, I can take these and get rid of them. Then, he’ll really be gone.”

Thinking it over, she followed him up the hallway. “No, baby, you stay here.” She moved to restrain him.

Problem was, Eddie was fast. His mother had tried to stomp them out of him young, but never could. He perpetually gave bullies the slip. He was always 10 steps ahead of everyone else. There was no way that his mother, 350 pounds of sedentary weight logged down by years of depressants and narcotics, would ever be able to catch him.

Passing through the front door, he was in Richie’s living room before she was crying out to him from the front porch. He snapped the lock and leaned up against the door, peering upstairs. “Richie?” he called. “Ben? Can one of you come get me so I don’t spring any of the traps?”

From upstairs, the familiar sound of Richie’s excited footsteps signaled that it was time. He reached him and asked for help with one more trap before they went upstairs. He agreed, filling Richie in on his mother’s information. It made sense to him. His mother had always been fiercely protective. If she thought this Grey guy was dead, it followed that she’d assume the dangers of Derry were dead along with, so there was no need for her to worry about Eddie spending time with his friends.

Ben had rigged a platform over the door and all they had to do was place a jug of water on it so that it would flood the live wires. If all else failed, they were going to fry this motherfucker so hard even Ronald McDonald wouldn’t recognize him.

They finished their work and quickly dashed upstairs. Ben had made the bed, set the primary, secondary, and tertiary alarms, readied the coffee pot, neatened the area around the bed, and made himself comfortable in the Queen Anne chair by the bed. When the boys made their way to the room, Eddie turned to Richie and, half-jokingly, asked “Can we keep him?”

All Ben had wanted was to make sure they were set. He was always the one with the fail-safes. He had backups for his backups’ backups. “You guys remember the plan, right? 15 minutes, in and out.”

Eddie gave a somber nod and took Richie’s hand. Find each other. Find Grey. Wake up.”

“You’re missing one important step,” Ben reminded, moving toward the foot of the bed. His face assumed a grave expression as he hugged his friends tightly. “Don’t you dare fucking die.”

Richie laughed. Honestly laughed. “We’ll try, Ben.”

They all knew deep down that that was the best they could hope for, given the circumstances. Still, they had to fight. There was no other way. If they didn't, who knew what could happen.

So, Richie and Eddie climbed into bed, Eddie pressed tightly under Richie’s arm, his head on his chest. “Just, whatever you do, Ben,” he said, looking at his friend as he made himself comfortable, “don’t fall asleep.”

Pouring himself another cup of coffee, he smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ben answered. His voice delivered an air of calm collectedness that none of them truthfully possessed. Still, he was trying to inspire confidence, despite the hammering in his chest. “I’ll watch over you two.”

Richie tugged Eddie closer and kissed the top of his head. In no time flat, he was asleep. Relaxed by the rhythm of Richie’s heart and the evenness of his breath, Eddie wasn’t too far behind. 

A bright idea came to Richie. He waited patiently for Eddie to join him. Once they were together, they had no option but to wait. They knew that he’d appear no matter what, so to keep the odds in their favor, they needed to stay on their home turf. No unexpected field trips to the sewer or town square. Just there.

A shrill, gnashing sound drew them out of bed and into the doorway. Another screech. Another clang. Richie shoved Eddie toward his mother’s closet and pointed under the dresser. His dad’s Louisville slugger. Richie ducked under the bed and twirled the code for his dad’s lockbox and it popped open. Two handguns and eight clips. He could only hope that would be enough.

In the distance, a children’s jump rope tune clashed out in a discordant melody. Eddie had no desire to find the source. He rocked side to side on the balls of his feet, rolling the bat in his palms.

The bedsheets began to ripple like a still pond, just disturbed by man. Instinctively, he gave two sharp thwacks to the center. Nothing. Not even a noticeable disturbance. 

Richie fired off three shots, one loosing feathers from the pillow into the air. “Eddie, go!” he yelled, urging him downstairs. When the clown finally reached full form, Richie fired on him twice. 

It spit the bullets back out, shocking both boys. “Now, that wasn’t nice,” he cooed. “That wasn’t very nice at all.”

“Eddie, go now!” Richie yelled. “I’ll be fine, go!”

“No, ya won’t,” he teased. “But, go anyway, Eds. There won’t be anything you can do.” He giggled maniacally. 

Eddie glanced at Richie once more. Richie, never once letting the gun stray from its target, moved toward the door, meeting Eddie halfway. “Babe, go. You know what needs to be done.”

“Ooh, young love,” the clown answered, voice saccharine sweet. “Did you figure it out yet,” It asked, closing in on Richie. “Do you know why I’m after you?”

Firing off two more shots, Richie’s only answer was a desperate “fuck you.” The clown rushed on him, jaws parted and ready to bite. Richie fired one more shot directly into its mouth and took off after Eddie.

Richie crashed down the steps and into his living room. “Eds, I hit him good. I think it definitely bought us some time.” He found his boyfriend in the kitchen staring at the ceiling. There were dark drips forming at the center. The sound of rushing water filled the room. The boys looked at each other and swallowed down the acrid fear they knew was ready to overflow. One fat droplet landed on the table between them.

They took off up the kitchen steps to his parents room once more, Richie reloading the gun as they went. The clown stood in the middle of the room. Smiling broadly as the crimson flood rolled in. “Guess the fat boy couldn’t hold out,” It gestured around gleefully. “I told you I’d get three at once, Richie! Even better that it’s the last three standing.

Thich, red blood coated every inch of the room. It dripped and dropped as though Ben had been sprayed across the room, specifically out of the chair.

Eddie dropped back. It was faint at first, but the first alarm began to squawk. He and Richie exchanged a panicked glance, then brandished their weapons fiercely. Eddie’s first blow landed right on the clown’s temple. Richie fired off four shots. Eddie got in one more strike to the gut, then, they both held on tight as the second alarm sprang to life. 

Suddenly, Richie and Eddie were both slick drenched in blood. Confirmation, they supposed, that Ben was dead in the real world, too. Eddie took off at a run. He dialed 911 on the wall phone and left the phone off the hook. 

Jumping into action, Richie lured It out into the hall and shoved, sending it barreling downwards. Richie grabbed his father’s decorative sword off the wall and charged down the steps, spearing him through and sticking him into the wall. “You killed my friends,” he screamed, hoping he was loud enough to hear. “You won’t get us too, you psycho clown fucker!” He was pretty sure his mind was just giving off nonsense by then. Still, it bought him time. 

Eddie came back, skipping steps. “Know what these are, Bob? Your knives,” Eddie said, dangling the parcel so that they stuck out of the cloth just a little. “So, whether you’re the real deal or some sort of sleazy copycat, you’re fucked.” Eddie slipped the glove on and clicked the knives together. “You got caught, Grey,” he said, dragging the knife attached to his index finger down the clown’s chest, scoring him just as he’d done to Richie’s cheek. “How does it feel, bastard?” he spat.

Writhing in agony, the clown’s form began to slip into his human form in a cheap ploy to their emotions. He cried out like a simpering child. Bob Grey reached out to Eddie, whimpering and clutching for him. 

Shoving Eddie away, Richie pulled the sword back. He watched as the man crumpled to the ground. Richie reared back and leveled a square kick to the wound, sending him barreling down the steps. They chased him through the first floor, hurling insults and objects his way. When they reached the kitchen, Richie wound up backed against the stove. He flicked on the gas and pinched his shirt up over his nose. Eddie followed suit, throwing plate after plate at the injured creep. When he finally stopped, sirens were audible. Richie and Eddie ran out the front window onto the porch, keeping a watchful eye on the clown as he struggled for air. Richie took his father’s old zippo out of his pocket, told Eddie to get back, and hurled it through the window. He ddove back off the porch just in time.

The blast rung in their ears, but still, Richie straightened up, saw It rushing the door, and knew it was time. He opened the door a little and the clown rushed upon it. As he swung it open, the bucket of water kicked down onto it and Richie reached in to flick the light. 

In the movies, when someone gets electrocuted, there are fireworks. Blue streaks fill the air. They char instantly. 

That didn’t happen.

It collapsed to the ground, convulsing. Some sparks arced from the split ends of the wires. The only charring that might have happened did so as the fire from the kitchen raged through the first floor.

Still, it was done. The boys clung to each other in stunned silence. They’d cry later, safe, cleaned up, and warm, curled up in Eddie’s bed at his dad’s. 

This time, Bob Grey’s body was found. Still, for the sake of safety, Frank Kaspbrak had insisted that the remains be cremated. It required some doing, but since he was already burned beyond recognition, it went through much simpler than he’d expected. The process was quick and painless. 

Quick and painless, he supposed, until Frank Kaspbrak woke in the night some 7 years later.

A metallic squeal.

Four dragging cut marks in the wallpaper.

A passage in blood:

Frank-   
Water didn’t kill me.   
Fire’s out too.  
If you try to stop me this time,  
I’ll make your family stew.  
-B.G.

He shook his head and walked to the bathtub, soaking himself in ice water until he woke up.

He looked at his phone. 4 a.m. One of the boys would probably be up with the baby.

Frank dialed their number but couldn’t allow himself to breathe until they picked up the phone. “Dad,” Richie asked, glancing at the clock, worried. “You okay? He bounced the baby in a vain attempt to lull him back to sleep. “Ben’s fussy tonight. Did you want to talk to Eds?”

“No. No, Richie, I’m fine,” he answered, relief washing over him, bringing hot, stinging tears to his eyes. “No, just needed to check.”

Richie smiled, watching Eddie sleep peacefully from the glider by the crib. “No harm in that.” 


End file.
